Monday's Poetry: "The Peace of Wild Things"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

I can remember sleepless nights when I was at my farm in the pines near Noel, Missouri.  I would walk out to the barn lot and have a midnight visit with the dogs and little goats.  Sometimes an emu or two would drift up to the fence to join in the join in our quiet chatter.   There was no pressure, no rush, no noise - just a group of friends sharing the peace.

Serenity can be difficult to come by in our bustling and complicated world, and sometimes the most disruptive noise is that which comes from within.  Poet Wendell Berry offers a path to inner-peace by taking a detour through nature.  It is a road I have wandered - and will again.


The Peace of Wild Things
by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief.  I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light.  For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

When despair for the world grows in me

When despair for the world grows in me

When despair for the world grows in me

When despair for the world grows in me

When despair for the world grows in me

Scottsdale Movies

by Pa Rock
Film Fan

I learned several years ago that the West Valley of Phoenix lacks the sophistication to see certain films - and anyone who thinks they have the necessary refinement to appreciate those movies must travel to Scottsdale in order to do so.  Most of those movies are only shown at one theatre - the Camelview 5 - a classy little movie house that is within spitting distance of Nordstroms.  The location oozes with exclusivity.

Over the past couple of years I have had to drive to Scottsdale - a distance of over thirty city miles - in order to see Slumdog Millionaire, Milk, and Killer Joe.    Obviously us sandbillies in the West Valley would have been bored or bewildered with movies like those.  I also anticipated driving to Scottsdale to see Mud, but at the last minute it was shown in one theatre on my side of town.

Interestingly, Killer Joe, which was too sophisticated for the West Valley, has made its way into the discount movie racks in many of our local quick stops.   It was too good for our big screens, but perfect for cut-rate DVD sales.

Now I would like to see Dallas Buyers' Club, and of course it is only showing on one screen - at the Camelview 5 in Scottsdale.   I've heard that it's a very good movie, but the fact that it is only playing in Scottsdale tells me that it's way out of my league.  I probably wouldn't understand a word of it!

Other movies playing at the Camelview 5 include The Book Thief, Blue Is the Warmest Color, and Kill Your Darlings.  Predictably, none of those are currently playing in the West Valley.  I guess I will have to wait to see them when they land in the discount racks at Circle K.

The Muslim Identity

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

I maintain a professional license (social work) that requires thirty hours of continuing education every two years.  Half of that may be accomplished through training over the Internet, but the remaining fifteen hours must take place in a regular classroom setting.    Of those thirty hours, a minimum of three must be in ethics and another three in cultural diversity.

Yesterday I drove across Phoenix to take those two specified classes.  The ethics class never changes much - just a standard litany of things you can't do with clients scattered through several small-group and other time-consuming activities.   But the cultural diversity training is usually interesting and makes up for the monotony of the ethics class - and it can cover any one of a multitude of topics.

Our cultural diversity training yesterday focused on how to work with clients who are Muslim.  The instructor was a Muslim lady who had grown up in a Christian home in the United States and converted to Islam as an adult.  She was a retired college professor who has lived in Phoenix many years.  She also brought along a young man (college student) who was the son of a Palestinian refugee father and an American mother who had converted to Islam.  The young man had attended a Muslim elementary school (K-8) in Phoenix.

Although I don't currently know anyone who is Muslim, I have had a few Muslim friends in the past and had a smattering knowledge of the religion - Islam.  I also had a college course in Middle Eastern history many years ago and knew some of the primary terminology related to the religion of Islam.

I entered the training with the knowledge that there is a strong bias against Muslims in our culture, and a feeling that many nativist Americans see being a Muslim as synonymous with being a terrorist.

(That terrorist malarkey comes from a few well publicized attacks - primarily those of 9-11.   That notion was intentionally fanned by politicians like Dick Cheney who wanted to turn "mosques into cathedrals."  Certainly there are Muslims who also happen to be terrorists, but of the billion-and-a-half Muslims worldwide, the terrorists within the religion are a tiny, tiny minority.  And lest we forget, Christians also have a very minute subset of terrorists - Eric Robert Rudolph, Jim Jones, Timothy McVeigh, and the Ku Klux Klan leap to mind - and those are just some of the ones from America.  Adolf Hitler also considered himself to be a Christian.)

What our two very articulate speakers shared yesterday was an overall view of Islam.  It is like Christianity in that it is a monotheistic religion (one God) that was brought forth through the teachings of several prophets - including Moses and Jesus - and with Mohammad being their final prophet.  His works and teachings are in their holy book - the Qur'an.

Perhaps it was because our primary speaker was a Muslim woman, and almost the entire class was female, but there did seem to be a distinct emphasis on the roles of women in the Muslim culture.   Many of us associate the head scarf and veil with Muslim women.  (Our speaker did have her head covered - but wore no veil.)  There have also been recent news stories about women's struggles to be allowed to drive in Saudi Arabia.    Life outside of Saudi Arabia, it turns out, is better.

The picture that our speaker painted of the life of Muslim women in general was much more positive.  Some of the surprising things I learned was that Muslim women secured the right to vote within the religion over 1,400 years ago.    They have the right to dispose of their earnings and property as they wish, and they are allowed to keep their family name after marrying.  Neither Muslim women nor men may be forced into a marriage

But the religion does still have a fundamentalist tinge to it - much like fundamentalist Christianity.  Men and women living together outside of marriage is unacceptable, and, although there are gay Muslims, the rite of marriage is accorded only to male-female couples.

We were given so much interesting information, material designed to foster an appreciation of a culture that has been very misrepresented and maligned in America's halls of power and in the press.  Ordinary Muslims, like ordinary Christians, live ordinary lives and do their best to raise their families and live in peace through the blessings and wisdom of their one God.

Rush Hour in the Desert

by Pa Rock
Driver

Interstate 10 is a marvelous ribbon of concrete that connects Jacksonville, Florida, to Los Angeles, California - crossing eight states along the way.  It is also one of the most traveled thoroughfares across Phoenix.  During mid-day or late in the evening it is quite convenient to zip from the extreme West Valley to the airport and beyond by using the Ten.  The rush hours, however - morning and evening - are quite another story.

The many lanes of the Ten are packed heading into Phoenix in the morning, and away from Phoenix in the late afternoon - and I am just about always heading the wrong way.  If I am going to Sky Harbor Airport, more often than not it will be for a morning flight.  To get to the airport, I have to drive fifteen miles or so on the Ten - toward downtown Phoenix and then a few miles beyond.  And the return trip, of course, usually occurs during the height of the afternoon rush hour - heading out toward the West Valley and away from downtown Phoenix.

The trips are usually slow, bumper-to-bumper, unless there is a wreck along the way - and then "slow" doesn't even begin to describe it!

Today I attended some social work training in Mesa and managed to land smack in the middle of both rush hours.  It wasn't fun, but I did relieve some stress by daydreaming about rush hour was going to be like in West Plains.    Then I remembered that even rural America has traffic issues.  Traffic congestion in the Ozarks is a line of cars trying to get around a farmer on a tractor (or tourists in an RV) on a twisting, two-lane road.

As Gilda Radner used to say, "It's always something!"

Breaking Clam

by Pa Rock
Lover of Nature

Ming, an elderly clam who lived deep in the Atlantic Ocean off of the coast of Iceland, was hauled up in a fisherman's net in 2006.    Scientists knew by her size that the old girl had some age on her, and they decided to crack her open to determine her exact age - a procedure that proved to be fatal - for Ming.

Scientists counted the rings inside of Ming's shell (a method thought to be more reliable than counting the rings on the outside of the shell) and came up with a total of four-hundred and six.  Then one of the scientists wanted to check that result by using the far more reliable method of carbon-dating.  The broke off a piece of Ming's centuries-old home and tossed it in the furnace.  The results indicated that the she  was a sprightly five-hundred and seven at the time of her murder.  They calculated the year of Ming's birth to be 1499 A.D.  (That was during the time of the Ming Dynasty in China, hence the name.)

(I've not read any news accounts that identify Ming's gender, but I did read on the Internet - so it has to be true - that hard-shelled clams often begin life as males, and then become females as they age - and few aged as long as Ming.   Chances are good, therefore, that Ming was transgendered.)

For those of us who believe in the transmigration of the soul (and who doesn't?), there is a possibility that Ming  is a mollusk reincarnation of Giovanni Cabota - an Italian explorer who was known by the English as John Cabot, the man who claimed North America for England.  Cabot died in 1499.

Certainly Ming was one of the very oldest animals (if you don't count bacteria and microscopic things that make awful pets) on Earth at the time of her death.  The oldest Galapagos tortoise died not too long ago at a little over two-hundred-and-fifty, half of Ming's age.

Ming was older than the combined ages of Nancy Reagan, Clint Eastwood, Joan Rivers, Bob Dole, and Queen Elizabeth II.  The ancient clam was as old as six Joe Arpaios and one angst-ridden high school sophomore!  She had some serious years on her!

Ming was at home beneath the sea happily doing clam things during the time of Copernicus.   She was sixty-five (the age I am now) when Galileo and Shakespeare were born, and nearly a century-and-a-half old when Sir Isaac Newton fell from his mother's womb.  At the time of Ming's birth, Christopher Columbus had only completed three of his four voyages, Ferdinand and Isabella were still on the thrones of Spain, and Henry VII was King of England.  Ming lived through a lot of history - from a time when the sun was thought by many to orbit the Earth, to a time when men walked on the moon.

And now Ming is dead.  She died for science, really bad science in my opinion.  As of now no one is claiming that the scientists intentionally killed Ming, but people of science should have known that prying her shell apart would be the clam equivalent of massive head trauma.  It would be like splitting great-grandma's skull open to have a look around.    If the killing of Ming wasn't murder, it was at least bivalve mollusk manslaughter.

It's outrageous enough to drive a grown man vegan!

Rest in peace, Ming.

Post-Racial America? Not Everyone Got the Memo

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

I'll be the first to admit that the state of race relations in America is much better than it was when I was a boy, but there is still a lingering racist subtext that just refuses to go away.

This week brought a couple of interesting stories that demonstrate that the old demon - racism - still lives in the hearts of some.  Richard Cohen penned an editorial in the Washington Post (of all places!) where he stated that the GOP is not racist, but then immediately noted that some people with "conventional views" might "repress a gag reflex" when considering the mayor-elect of New York, Bill de Blasio, and his black wife and two bi-racial teenage children.  He then went on to mention, sort of as an aside, that de Blasio's wife is a former lesbian.  Mr. Cohen had a concern that the de Blasio family doesn't look like America to cultural conservatives.

It sounds to me like there is some racism in there someplace - and maybe just a pinch of homophobia!

Richard Cohen was very careful to stay away from proclaiming those views as his own - he just wanted us to know that is how some others feel.   And by attaching those feelings to "others" he also managed  to get the facts about the very diverse de Blasio family into print on the editorial page of a very influential newspaper.  Cohen wasn't pointing fingers at the de Blasio family, he was pointing fingers at the other people who were pointing fingers at that beautiful family.   The GOP, in Mr. Cohen's unique perspective, is not racist - but it's cultural conservatives might be.

The de Blasio family, by the way, truly is beautiful!  They would look great on the White House holiday cards!

The second piece of news involved a white supremacist by the name of Craig Cobb.  Cobb has been trying to establish an enclave for whites only in the very small community of Leith, North Dakota.  Cobb, who has ties with an assortment of hate groups, has been an occasional guest on the television show, Trisha, which is hosted by Trisha Goddard, a black woman.   At some point Ms. Goddard convinced him to have a DNA test to check his own ancestry.   The cameras were rolling recently in front of a live audience when Ms. Goddard informed Cobb that he was 86% European and 14% Sub-Saharan African - or approximately one-seventh black!

Ms. Goddard said to her guest, "Sweetheart, you've got a little black in you." The audience hooted!

Whoops!

Craig Cobb was not amused to learn of his African heritage, and he was really not amused when Ms. Goddard referred to him as "bro" and tried to give him a fist bump!  He denied the scientific accuracy of the test and referred to it as "statistical noise."

No word yet on whether cultural conservatives have started to gag at the sight of Craig Cobb.

Red, White, and Joe

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

Arizona's biggest bully, Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio, is showboating again.  This time the geriatric lawman has come up with a scheme to make himself appear tougher and more patriotic, while decreasing the nutritional intake of some of his prisoners to damned near nothing.  And Old Joe does love a cheap meal - when its served to residents of his jails.

The plan is this:  Arpaio intends to punish any inmates who deface the American flag by putting them on rations of bread and water.  Then, to make sure that they have an opportunity to deface the flag, he is placing American flag stickers in each of the cells.

"See that flag you pink underwear-wearing piss ants?  Go ahead, just try messing with that flag!  I double-dog dare you!"

That sounds like the kid in fifth grade who took everyone's lunch money.  The prisoners aren't the only people suffering from arrest here in Sandbilly Heaven.  The sheriff is obviously a victim of arrested development!

Veteran's Day Salute to Robert Brownlow Wooliver (1926-1945)

by Pa Rock
Veteran

There is a beautiful garden-like setting of several hundred acres at the southern tip of Okinawa called Peace Prayer Park.   The park, sitting atop sheer cliffs that look out onto the Pacific Ocean, is dedicated to the military personnel who fought and died in the bloody Battle of Okinawa in 1945 - all of the military personnel:  Japanese, Americans, and the Brits.  At the end of the battle when the Japanese realized that all was lost, many marched off of those cliffs and met their deaths on the rocks below.

Peace Prayer Park has a large interactive museum that shows newsreel footage from the battle, as well as a large assortment of life-sized dioramas and other exhibits.  The grounds of the park have numerous monuments, but the most significant monument is a set of marble panels that contain the names of all of the servicemen who died in the battle.  Over eleven thousand Americans are named on this marble panels.

On July 4th, 2012, just ten days before I departed Okinawa, I drove down to Peace Prayer Park and took photographs of all of the American and British panels - with the thought of eventually posting all of those names on-line in a searchable format.  (That is a retirement project waiting to happen!)

Today, in honor of Veteran's Day, I chose one of those individuals at random for a posthumous salute.

Robert Brownlow Wooliver was a Seaman 1st Class with the U.S. Naval Reserve working with Naval Construction Battalion 58 at the time of his death.  The seabee was born on the 19th of July in 1926 and died in the service of his country on the 27th of September 1945.   He was a native of Knoxville, Tennessee, the son of William and Callie Rhodes Wooliver.   His funeral services were held on March 14th, 1949, at the Knoxville National Cemetery.

Seaman Wooliver, you did not die in vain, and you are not forgotten.   Rest in peace, sailor - and thank you for your service in the defense of freedom.

Lindsey Graham Is Beginning to Get Tiresome

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Senator Lindsey Graham of South Carolina, John McCain's better half, has one overriding, all-consuming goal in life - his 2014 re-election to the cushy life.   Graham, once a fairly centrist member of the Republican Party, has seen what can happen when one overlooks or misunderestimates the terrifying power of the right-wing of his party - those people who make noise and show up to vote in primaries.    He has seen it, and he cowers before it.

Today Senator Graham was on the Sunday talk shows demanding that the administration come clean or Benghazi - remember Benghazi?  He and his legislative co-conspirators want to have survivors of Benghazi hauled before Congress so that they (the legislators) can fish for scandalous tidbits.  As a noise factor, Benghazi is a twofer for the tea-baggers - the people that Graham wants desperately to impress.  Many of those miscreants are hopeful that it will eventually tarnish the Obama administration - and any really juicy discoveries could also help to derail the presidential ambitions of Hillary Rodham Clinton.  They can't let Benghazi die because it has just too much potential for Fox News soundbites.

Graham's trump card in the demand for more Benghazi information is that he is threatening to put a hold on the nomination of Janet Yellin to be head of the Federal Reserve - and that particular threat is also a twofer.  It is designed to force the President and the State Department to hopefully inflict some self-harm, and Ms. Yellin is female - and taking a stand that might keep a woman out of a position of power is psychological Viagra to the conservative old white men whose support is critical to Graham's election.

Just this past week CBS News issued an apology over a report that it ran on Benghazi - a report centered on the account of an eye-witness.  It turns out that the eye-witness had given a different account to the FBI.  One has to wonder what he will tell Congress when Graham finally coerces him into testifying.  Will it be Benghazi Version 3.0?

Senator Graham, in his powerful push to be seen as a right-wing moron, has also recently taken up sponsorship of the 20-week ban on abortions.  Another twofer - an obvious nod to America's hate-fueled evangelicals, and another swipe at females who can't be trusted to make decisions regarding their own bodies.

Lindsey, Lindsey, Lindsey!   You are really getting tiresome.  Kiss up to those rednecks till your lips turn to sandpaper, but know this:  even a redneck can spot a phony!  Your time on the world stage is drawing to a close.  It's time to take your bows and head out on a junket.  Johnny Mac will meet you at the airport!

Kristallnacht

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

With the steady surge in religious intolerance, antipathy toward the poor, racial bigotry, and garden-variety fascism in America, it would probably be of benefit to occasional look over our collective shoulders and note the effects of intolerance run amok.  Examples of the dominant group trying to destroy the power or the very existence of a subgroup are unfortunately common in history.  One stark example is the near decimation of Native Americans by European settlers.  Another much more recent example is the Nazis' murder of over six million Jews during World War II in an attempt to completely remove followers of Judaism from the face of the earth.

On the evening of November 9, 1938, exactly seventy-five years this very night, many Germans and Austrians who had been fired up by the leaders of the Nazi Party took to the streets and burned synagogues, as well as homes and stores of their Jewish neighbors.   More than a thousand Jews were killed that night, and another thirty-thousand were rounded up and sent to concentration camps.  Most never left those camps.

The broken glass covering the sidewalks and streets that night sparkled in the light from the fires - giving rise to the name that was coined to mark the event:  Kristallancht, or Crystal Night (also, "the night of broken glass").  It was the opening salvo in the Nazi's war on Jews (the Holocaust), and it forever serves as a reminder of what happens when good people stand aside and remain silent when intolerance rages.

Hate lives, unfortunately, and it is always looking for a way to grab power.  Those who would challenge  the rise of despots need to be ever vigilant. 

Snakes and Cakes

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

My first knowledge of American evangelist Billy Graham came while I still in elementary school.  My friend, Denice, was getting out of school for the afternoon so that she could go with her family to the very small neighboring community of Sulphur Springs, Arkansas, to hear Billy Graham speak.  "Who's that?" I asked her, showing my heathen ignorance.

(If memory serves, there was some religious order based in Sulphur Springs that had invited the Southern Baptist road preacher to come for an afternoon of soul-saving and pocket-picking.)

Yesterday the Reverend Mr. Graham made news by celebrating his 95th birthday.  The old gentleman who has spent his life preaching about God's eternal kingdom, doesn't appear to be in a great hurry to get there and experience it firsthand.

The official party took place in a conference center in Asheville, North Carolina.  It was hosted by Graham's son, Franklin, and eight or nine hundred invited guests showed up.  Every table was adorned with a cupcake and a candle.

Guests were a who's who of past, present, and future Fox News personalities.   Todd and Sarah Palin were there, and the unemployed Mrs. Palin managed to get a turn at the microphone.  (No word on whether the Palin's conned some poor schmuck or political organization into ponying up 1st class airplane tickets so that they could fly in the style to which they have become accustomed.)  Donald Trump was also there, though it is unlikely he rode in on a camel and passed through the eye of a needle in order to get to the party.  

Rick Warren, another highly polished television beggar evangelist was also in attendance, as were television personalities Greta Van Susteren, Kathie Lee Gifford, and Glenn Beck.   And, of course, what right-wing media rodeo would be complete without it's most powerful clown:  Rupert Murdock.

A wonderful time was enjoyed by all - and Jesus undoubtedly wept.

In Praise of Those Who Drive a Dodge

by Pa Rock
Medical Consumer


I had an interesting encounter at the eye doctor's office this morning.  A young lady took me back to the exam room and began running various eye tests.  She was proficient in all of the procedures and knew how to operate the machines.  I was fairly certain that she was just an exceptionally skilled lab technician, but following a bit of testing and after she gave me a preliminary diagnosis, I had the notion that she might actually be the doctor - so I asked.

"Oh, no."  She replied.  "I just do all of the work and drive a Dodge!"

Don't we all!

Hot Nuts

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Back in the previous millennium when I was but a youngster, a semi-tractor-trailer rig overturned on a twisty country road close to my hometown.  The truck was carrying thousands of pounds of frozen chickens, and the rock-solid carcasses spilled all over hill-and-dale.  The locals descended on the site of the wreck, and before the company could show up to protect its property, those birds had been plucked up and spirited off to home freezers all over the county.  I don't think the chicken snatchers thought of it as stealing - just damned good luck!

Audie Cornish on National Public Radio ran an investigative piece yesterday called "The Nut Job"  which also focused on the theft of food, but this time it was well planned in advance - and those profiting by the crime likely were not just a bunch of hungry hillbillies.

The story chronicled the major theft this week of three trailer loads of hulled and dried walnuts (140,000 pounds) from California's agriculturally rich Central Valley.   The thieves, likely connected to organized crime, cut holes in a fence, drove their semi-tractors through the fence, hooked up to the loaded trailers, and drove off.  A snatch-and-grab on an industrial scale.

The heisting of walnuts and almonds from the Central Valley has been going on for several years.  One recent version of the crime involved a driver showing up with the correct order number, hooking up to the cargo trailer, and then driving off - never to reach his destination or to be heard from again.

And it's not just nuts.  Raisins have also been targeted, and recent news reports describe the wholesale theft of chicken wings and hamburger patties.   A truckload of Nutella was recently stolen in Germany.

As these food bandits get more brazen, law enforcement will undoubtedly ramp up its efforts to thwart the thieves.  The takeaway lesson from all of this might be to use caution when biting into your peanut butter because you might just chomp down on a tracking device!

The Pope's Sex Survey Sez . . .

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Pope Francis is proving to be a far different creature than his immediate predecessor, Ratzinger the Nazi.  It's almost like like some errant member of the curia decided to pull back the dusty old drapes inside of the Vatican, open the windows, and let in the 21st century.  Holy moly, he's such a refreshing change!

This Pope, instead of exercising absolute power from the top down, has now decided that it might be advantageous for the Church to hear from its base - the millions of of individual Catholics who sample the bread and wine each week and dutifully give their dollars to God.  To that end, he has sent out a survey to his Bishops asking that they consult with their parishioners and on a number of contemporary issues and get the results back to the Holy See.  The results will be discussed at next year's Synod of Bishops.

Unfortunately there was no requirement for U.S. bishops to consult with their parishes, and they are free to submit just their personal opinions. However, various groups have put the survey on line, giving access to people who might have been frozen out of the process by their diocese leadership.

Clearly not every opinion will be received or tallied, but the boldness of the effort is stunning!  This Pope wants to know about how people are actually living and what the Church can do to support and minister to them.   The 38 questions in the survey focus on such controversial items as gay marriage, children adopted by gay parents, mixed (inter-religious) marriages, single-parent families, polygamy, couples living together without the benefit of marriage, divorce, and even "forms of feminism hostile to the Church."

Of course, once the information is received and processed, poor Francis will still have to blast through several thick layers of cemented bureaucracy in order to make any substantive changes - but it's a start!

If Pope Francis is not careful, he may lead me back to church!

Arpaio's Wish List

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

America’s most egotistical sheriff, Joe Arpaio of Maricopa County, Arizona, recently said in a radio interview that he would like to have one or two small drones (briefcase-sized) to combat dope peddlers and conduct search and rescue missions.  It wouldn’t be the first military-type hardware in the sheriff’s arsenal.   At one time he also had a military tank with the words “Sheriff Arpaio’s War on Drugs”  painted on its side.  Perhaps he still has it.

The tank got Arpaio and actor Steven Segal in a peck of trouble when they used it in March of 2011 to bust a guy who was suspected of raising roosters for cockfights.  Coincidentally, the raid with forty Maricopa County deputies in full battle rattle and a bomb robot, was filmed in anticipation of being aired on Seagal’s television reality show:  Steven Seagal:  Lawman. 

Apparently Seagal rode the tank through the guy’s gate and onto his property, killing over a hundred roosters and an eleven-month-old dog in the process.  Both Arpaio and Seagal have made public claims of being opposed to animal cruelty.

A&E tried to get the victim, a man who said he was raising roosters for show and not for fighting, to sign a release – after the incident.  The outraged homeowner instead chose to file a civil suit asking for $100,000 damages and a written apology from Seagall.  In the suit the homeowner claimed that the raid was part of an Arpaio pattern of “arresting and prosecuting individuals without probable cause solely for the selfish and improper purposes of achieving personal and political gain through publicity.”

Joe Arpaio – a publicity hound?  I’m shocked!

Hey Joe, while you’re airing your Christmas wish list, why not add a couple of tactical nuclear weapons? Think how many chickens you could kill with just one of those!

Monday's Poetry: "The Revenant"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Did you ever wonder what your pet thinks about you?  Former U.S. Poet Laureate Billy Collins explores that question with his tongue-in-cheek poem entitled "The Revenant."  In that poem Mr. Collins speaks for a dog who has been put to sleep by his owner.  It is a funny piece that can't help but make you consider who you are from your pet's perspective.

I originally heard this poem on the radio a couple of years ago, and this past weekend the poet recited it on A Prairie Home Companion - much to the delight of the show's live audience.

Enjoy!


The Revenant
by Billy Collins

I am the dog you put to sleep,
as you like to call the needle of oblivion,
come back to tell you this simple thing:
I never liked you--not one bit.

When I licked your face,
I thought of biting off your nose.
When I watched you toweling yourself dry,
I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap.

I resented the way you moved,
your lack of animal grace,
the way you would sit in a chair to eat,
a napkin on your lap, knife in your hand.

I would have run away,
but I was too weak, a trick you taught me
while I was learning to sit and heel,
and--greatest of insults--shake hands without a hand.

I admit the sight of the leash
would excite me
but only because it meant I was about
to smell things you had never touched.

You do not want to believe this,
but I have no reason to lie.
I hated the car, the rubber toys,
disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives.

The jingling of my tags drove me mad.
You always scratched me in the wrong place.
All I ever wanted from you
was food and fresh water in my metal bowls.

While you slept, I watched you breathe
as the moon rose in the sky.
It took all of my strength
not to raise my head and howl.

Now I am free of the collar,
the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater,
the absurdity of your lawn,
and that is all you need to know about this place

except what you already supposed
and are glad it did not happen sooner--

that everyone here can read and write,
the dogs in poetry, the cats and the others in prose.

Rocky Horror, Take Three

by Pa Rock
Theatre Fan

The Rocky Horror Picture Show bears repeating.  Some movie houses have been repeating it in midnight showings for decades, making the film the longest running presentation in theatrical history.   There's a cross-generational group of fans who have been going to those midnight showings, night after night, for longer than people with lives would be loathe to admit.  But, dammit Janet, the movie is a lot of fun!

And so too is the play.

The Luke Experience, our local little theatre troupe, is also developing a Rocky Horror habit.  The very talented acting company has just completed its third production of the material - and the play, like the movie, is lots and lots of fun!

Their first run at Rocky Horror occurred sometime during 2010-2012 while I was still at Kadena, so I missed that theatrical endeavor, but the second effort took place a year ago this month and I was able to enjoy it - twice.  Those performances were very good, but hampered by a bad sound system.

Now the sound issue has been resolved, and that makes all the difference!

The current production was co-directed by Christoforo Ceroni and Lacey Quattlebaum, both of whom also held down important roles in the play.  In addition to directing and playing the part of Columbia, Ms. Quattlebaum performed the opening song, a difficult musical number in which she hit every note perfectly.  It was a very nice lead into the play.

Ms. Quattlebaum is a long-standing director and actor with The Luke Experience.  She directed and performed in the first play that I ever saw at Luke - The Devil and Daniel Webster - in 2009.

Chris Ceroni reprised his role of the central character, Dr. Frankenfurter, a cross-dressing mad scientist who romped and stomped around the stage in platform boots with high heels.  At one point he descended an eight-foot step-ladder, unassisted, hands-free, in heels, while singing -  a feat that was nothing short of jaw-dropping!  Ceroni is an on-stage regular with The Luke Experience, and his performances are always top notch.

Daniel Calderone and Laurie Snyder, turned in solid performances as the hapless house guests, Brad and Janet, as did Mitchell Bruner and Carissa Latham with their portrayals of the evil domestics, Riff Raff and Magenta.  Linda Johnson portrayed the narrator to perfection.  Ms. Johnson revs up every play that she is in with her quirky and memorable performances.  Ron Fantasia played Frankenfurter's perfect male creature, Rocky - and he did it quite well, even out-shining his performance in the role a year ago.

Also appearing in the current production were Amanda Armstrong, Curtis Sproul, Allyson Schonfeld, Sofie Calderon, Lee Hartwig, Regina Denman, Haley Bobadilla, Amber Whittle, Jeremiah Barnes, Silver Gonzales, and Shamika Moore.

One of the male cast members who was in the Dentonians / Transylvanians chorus, came out during the intermission, in drag, and did a spirited recruitment effort trying to encourage participation in The Luke Experience.   He was funny and engaging.

Everything about this performance was exceptional:  the acting, the singing, and even the dancing.  The actors hit their marks and knew their lines, and I could hear every word.  It was really a pleasure to watch!

It takes a fair amount of courage to perform in a play like Rocky Horror, particularly on a military base- and The Luke Experience does it so well.  Although retirement will prevent me from seeing it next year, I hope they have established a tradition that will be around for many years to come.

Thank you, Luke Experience, for being so bold as to bring a musical of this caliber to base!  You guys rock!

The National Enquirer Might as Well Be Fox

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

(Disclaimer:  I am a shameless fan of U.S. Ambassador to Japan, Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg.)

The fast approaching 50th anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy has launched a publication frenzy of special edition magazines to commemorate the event.  Such venerable newsstand stars as TV Guide, Life, Time, People, Smithsonian, Vanity Fair, The Atlantic, and USA Today have all generated special issues on the life and death of JFK.

National Enquirer, usually not regarded as a serious news source, even generated a slick special edition entitled Who Really Killed the Kennedys! which regurgitates the work of many authors who have written on the murders of John and Robert Kennedy.  That publication gathers information on several conspiracy theories and is surprisingly readable.

I have been collecting these assassination retrospectives - something that one of my grandchildren can sell for a nice profit on the one-hundredth anniversary of President Kennedy's murder.  Last week, while perusing the periodicals at Walgreen's, I spotted another Kennedy cover that was at least marginally related to the assassination of JFK.   It turned out to be a hatchet piece on the lady once memorialized by singer Neil Diamond as "Sweet Caroline."

Three-quarters of the cover of the regular edition of National Enquirer dealt with Caroline Kennedy's liquidation of her mother's property.  The cover featured a photo of JFK and Jackie in Dallas on the morning of the assassination, and a contemporary photo of Caroline in which she looked wrinkled, haggard, and possibly suffering from a skin disease.  The headline roared, "Coldhearted Ambassador Caroline Kennedy Cashing In on JFK Assassination!"

One irony, of course, was that by having a Kennedy cover, the National Enquirer was also cashing in on the Kennedy assassination.

The story itself was a two-page spread in the exact center of the publication with a banner headline proclaiming "Greedy Caroline Cashes In!"  The main sub-headline, positioned next to a close-up of Ambassador Kennedy that made her look as though she might be suffering from a case of poison ivy on her face, said "Kennedy daughter making millions from JFK and Jackie deaths."  Within the meat of the article, meat sliced so thin as to almost be transparent, was a statement declaring that Caroline is "a greedy phony who is shamefully hawking her family's moments to the highest bidder!"  A second sub-headline declared, "She's a shameless fake & huckster!" was placed next to a picture of her deceased brother, John F. Kennedy, Jr, giving the appearance that the quote was his - though in the article the attribution was to an anonymous "one source."

(The National Enquirer is big on exclamation marks.  They seem to add to the integrity and strength of the story!!!)

The story itself expresses outrage that Caroline had the temerity to sell family memorabilia - a collection of items which belonged to her and included such things of historical unimportance as a sugar bowl and some cracked jars.  The Enquirer was also miffed that she has published books which were essentially the work of other people - such as a collection of her mother's favorite poems.  None of the books appear to be efforts by Ms. Kennedy to take credit for the collections or anthologies.  There was some muffled outrage over her appointment as Ambassador to Japan.  And the article was capped with a claim that Caroline's marriage to Ed Scholssberg is falling apart.  (Why would that be anybody's business but theirs?)

One significant aspect of this piece was the Enquirer's penchant for not revealing sources.  In fact, only one actual human was quoted anywhere in the entire article.  Most of the "facts" in the piece were attributed to "insiders," "a Kennedy family insider," "a source," "one source," "another source," and "an outraged source" - with several of those "sources" being quoted multiple times.  One quote, "But she's living a lie," wasn't attributed to anyone, and another quote which told how much money she had cleared at a "yard sale auction" was linked to the New York Post - something short of an A-list source.  

In all honesty I did not plop down four dollars for a copy of the National Enquirer expecting to encounter much in the way of quality investigative journalism.    It is a publication that needs to be read when the mood is right - such as during commercials on Saturday Night Live or while using Bill O'Reilly or Sean Hannity for background noise.  When it comes to good journalism, the National Enquirer might as well be Fox.

A History of Dogs

by Pa Rock
Dog's Best Friend

I met a dog this morning, a fine fellow by the name of Magic who works as a therapy canine.  Magic is a very large, perfectly coiffed, half-Standard Poodle and half-Golden Retriever who has his own slick-finished trading cards.  Meeting Magic made be that much more determined to acquire a dog of my own just as soon as I get settled at the farm next March.

My first dog was a brindle hound named Bozo,  I have seen pictures of him and me playing in the yard when I was just barely walking.  Penny, a copper-colored Cocker Spaniel was the first family dog that I remember.  She was sweet and gentle, a great dog for little kids.  I was a pre-schooler during the Penny years.

My dad had a Boston Bulldog (Boston Terrier) named Mike when I was in elementary school.  Mike was with us for several years.  The next canine resident at our household was a bird dog whose name I have forgotten.  There was a brief time when my dad took up bird hunting and invested in a good dog.  It was a short-lived hobby during the fall of 1963.  I remember that because I was tagging along on a bird hunt the day Lee Harvey Oswald was shot.

My dad had two more dogs during his later years.  The first was Pard (short for Pardner) another Boston Bulldog who rode everywhere with Dad in his truck and was an expert as passing gas.  The second, Boog (short for Booger) was a large and very loud hound who showed up at my house and I managed to somehow get Dad to take possession of the creature.  Dad liked Boog, but his loud, nocturnal howling set the neighbors to howling.  He took Boog to live on a farm several miles out in the country - twice - and both times Boog beat him home.  He finally found a home beyond Boog's homing range.

The most memorable and permanent dog to reside with our family as our kids were growing up was Rusty, a long-haired pleasant fellow who was with us several years.  Rusty was named after Rusty Pails, a character that I created for a newspaper humor column.  Rusty outlasted the family and was residing with me in 1997 when I had to give him to friends so that I could move to the city to pursue a degree in Social Work.

Emme (pronounced "Emmie") was a long-hair Chihuahua who belonged to a girlfriend.  Emme bonded more loosely to me than she did to her mistress, and we were quite fond of each other.  Sadly, Emme Ears left when the girlfriend did.

My final dogs were Paladin and Paloma, a pair of beautiful Great Pyrenees who were with me at the little farm in Noel about ten years ago.  Paladin liked to sleep in the road, and he was big enough that drivers skirted around him.  Paloma was adopted by the farm goose, and they were always inseparable.

Every dog was different, and each of them helped to make me a calmer and better person.  (Dogs really are therapeutic!)  Somewhere out there is a fine young mutt destined to live on a farm and howl at the moon with an old human fart - but he just doesn't know it yet.  It will be the best years of our lives!